"Ollie!" At this point I pay attention. Mainly because I'm aware that whatever the discussion point is, the quicker I can get it out of the way, the quicker I can start investigating whether or not it really is possible to achieve the perfect orgasm using just a pillow and a picture of Cindy Crawford. Or (and this plays on my mind more and more) wondering whether those starving African kids with the swollen stomachs and gut-wrenching look of true despair, these poor unfortunate souls who are subject to the whims of a so-called developed world which sees fit to place them in poverty simply because it's too much effort to say "Hang on, what if we just removed your debt and helped you out by giving you the millions of tonnes of crap we don't need but may just save your lives oh except for this I-Phone app of course because I bet you've never even seen a live bird let alone an angry one" ... I wonder if those starving African kids even know how to wank. If not, Lenny Henry, I hope you're listening, go out and teach them.
"OLLIE!" Yes, sorry, hello. "Why do you believe that Jimmy Saville is actually an ancient Babylonian god sent to destroy us?"
At this point I may scoff at the ridiculousness of the question. "Pshaw," I might say. "Pfaf," I could add. "Gribb, ptui, grestooki," often comes tumbling out before I can stop myself. Of course I don't believe that; no, Jimmy Saville is a mere emissary of an ancient Babylonian god. And I have proof.
PROOF THE FIRST:
The ancient Babylonian god in question is of course Dagon, described by Milton as a sea-monster. Dwelling in the ocean, controlling the tides, this fearsome creature would occasionally devour sailors whole but not before they'd drawn a quick sketch first. Please note the hat.
Before I carry on, why were all ancient pictures a bit rubbish? I mean, this is meant to be a sea-beast, right, but look at the background. That's not water. What, is it beached? Are hordes of Greenpeace workers waiting just out of shot with buckets of that suspicious white creamy stuff they rub on whales under the pretence of 'saving' them?
'Saving' them. 'Getting their perverted kicks' more like.
"Oh dear Mr Whale, you're not well are you, oh dear no, let me just rub you alllllllll over, mmmm, nice yes?"
"Actually, could you just, y'know, get me back in the water? I'll be alright after a bit."
"Oh dear Mr Whale, looks like a little got into your blow hole; well, don't you worry, I'll get it out, ohhhhhh, mmmmmm ... "
"Nnnnnnngggg - "
"Stop struggling, you wait and see where they really take you in that airlift."
Okay, anyway, so old Daggers (as he was known to his friends and close relatives) doesn't look too terrifying there, and almost totally doesn't look like Jimmy Saville. But don't be fooled by the almost friendly bushy black beard.
See the identical phallic shape of the hats? Coincidence? I think not. If only Dagon's cigar had not been photo-shopped out by some ancient Babylonian busy-body eager to conceal the truth, this alone would be all the evidence needed to encourage the citizens of the world to tear down the many shrines erected in 'Sir' Saville's honour.
But I shall press on.
PROOF THE SECOND:
According to Phoenician sources, Dagon ruled over the lands Dor and Joppa, in the Plain of Sharon.* His consort, Belatu, ruled the Mountain of Debbie, while his son Hadad had to make do with the Cornershop of Clive**, as well as all his mates taking the piss out of his name. "Oi, Hadad, havave you got a tenner you can lend me? Guffaw."***
Dor and Joppa, eh? And I bet all these years you thought 'DJ' stood for something as simple and banal as 'disc jockey'. In fact, now I come to think of it, 'Dagon' even sounds a bit like DJ. Especially if you say it with a mouthful of sand like I bet all those ancient people did. Yes. Two for the price of one there.
PROOF THE THIRD:
Right, this is the clincher. Jimmy Saville, born in 1926.
1926, according to some weird web-site I stumbled upon at 3 in the morning while smoking a big fat doobie, marked the beginning of the Age of Aquarius (fish!), when the water-bearer shall rise (water!) alongside the influence of entertainment. Oh, yes, Insert own random rabid capitals.
1926. In January, London was FLOODED. (I thought I'd help you out this time).
1926. In February, Shakespeare Memorial Theatre in Stratford-Upon-Avon wAs DEStroyEd by waTer.
1926. A hurricane (more often than not a water-born phenomena) killed 650 people in Cuba, 11 days before 'Sir' Saville's birth. Add 6 and 5 and 0 together and you get ELEVEN.
1926. Fidel Castro was born. According to newspaper reports, he DRINKS WATER sometimes.
1926. What happened on the exact day of Dagon's emissary birth? Harry Houdini died. Yes, even then we were being sent the subtle message that there is NO ESCAPE.
1926. And what was that date of birth exactly? Ah, yes, 31st October, commonly known as Samhain, or Halloween if YOU'RE COMMON.
I must go lie down for a bit, but I want you to bear all this mind. You may feel you can mock, or even ask, "What exactly is he going to do to bring about the end of the world?" But when you feel those first moist clammy tentacles wrap around your face to pull you screaming into the ocean, just remember who tried to warn you.
* This is actual mythology.
** This isn't.
*** This could be, I'm not sure anymore.
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